


Nightingale

by Ginger_Ninja_405



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Oneshot, Post-Winter Soldier, Romance, based on a request, brock being bitter and insecure over his scars, brock is hydra, even Hydra Brock can be soft, home hair cuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29643777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginger_Ninja_405/pseuds/Ginger_Ninja_405
Summary: After the violent and explosive destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, Brock has found romance from an unexpected source, but his insecurities over his unsettling physical appearance are always lurking in the shadows of his mind.
Relationships: Brock Rumlow/Original Character(s), Brock Rumlow/Original Female Character(s), Brock Rumlow/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Nightingale

**Author's Note:**

> based on the following request from my tumblr : I’d like a fic with Brock and this prompt “Every day I love you more.”, also he is HYDRA and if is possible reader is HYDRA too, please ? 
> 
> To be honest, I left the reader character's allegiance to Hydra open to opinion, I don't think it really effects the story either way. Canon Divergence because...Brock decidedly does not go and get himself blown up at some point post-fic :)

A pair of scarred hands gripped the porcelain edge of the sink as Brock stood in the bathroom of his apartment, staring at the remnants of his wrecked face. Considering the overall destruction he'd found himself at the bottom of, he was aware the damage could have been far worse, but in moments like this, when he found himself alone with his damaged flesh, the idea that he could count himself lucky of the physical results was laughable to him at best. Sliding out a drawer and dragging out a set of clippers, he reached up with the other hand, running his fingers over his prickly jawline. Much as he hated having to look upon his own reflection these days, he knew his facial hair was beginning to edge on excessive in the eyes of his lover. She liked his stubble, she hated a full beard. Switching on the electric trimmer in his hand, he went to work to make himself 'presentable.'

Several months had passed since the _accident,_ since that genetically enhanced do-gooder had dropped a building on his face, and though his distaste for his appearance had not noticeably dissipated in that time, he couldn't deny that his life had improved in some drastic ways. Years of being a loyal member of Hydra had dealt him a solitary existence in his downtime, and he'd mostly given up on the hope of a romantic relationship along the way, but the young woman who'd become such a staple in his life since his stay in the hospital had drawn out of him feelings he thought long extinguished. Hope. Trust. Compassion. Love. 

Though he'd noticed her in passing multiple times over the last few years through the facade of S.H.I.E.L.D, he'd never spoken a word to her until he'd found himself lying in a hospital bed as she carefully treated his slowly healing scars. He'd watch her face for shifts in expression as she tended gingerly to his flesh, hypervigilant for any signs of distaste or disgust, but she only flinched when she grazed over the occasional, particularly fragile nerve that caused him to tense up in pain. When his treatment and physical therapy had come nearly to a close, and he'd finally expressed the affection he'd developed for her, she hadn't shown the slightest tinge of hesitation as she stood on tiptoes to accept his kiss.

As Brock flipped the the switch on the device in his hands, examining the results of his work, he heard the brief sound of another set of clippers from beyond the bathroom door. Running a damp cloth over his torn-up facade, he splashed on some aftershave and stepped out of the bathroom. “I can't get it any closer than this,” he uttered as his bare feet padded across the hardwood floor of the living room, watching the young woman as she examined the various attachments and guards of the clippers she held in one hand.

“Come on,” she invited, ignoring what she knew was an invitation to scrutinize his damaged aesthetic, gesturing to the stool that sat before her, “Let's clean up your fade.” Holding her gaze as long as he could, noting with silent pleasure the flush that permeated her cheeks in response to the intensity that flustered her still, he finally sat before her, facing away with his eyes closed as she set to work.

Brock's breathing was slow and steady as he sat in silence, reveling in the delicate touch of her fingers as she trimmed the edges of his hair that had started to lose its desired shape from lack of upkeep, careful to avoid the scarring of his neck and ears. She knew he wouldn't feel any physical pain if she had, those nerve-endings were fried, the pain was psychological. He was about as healed as he would ever be on the outside, but the wounds to his ego were fresh and raw inside. It hadn't been easy to convince him that her returned affection was true, but for her, and certainly for him, it was worth the effort.

Brock had completely zoned out by the time she sat down a pair of scissors after trimming the longer strands that ran over the top of his scalp, silently examining her practiced work. His crop of thick, dark hair still damp from the spritzes of water, she worked her fingers though his damp forest, listened with a smile tugging at her lips as the man before her sighed contentedly. With a hint of preliminary anxiety, her fingers slipped around to lightly grasp his stubbled chin, tilting his head back a bit and leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the lighter scarring of his forehead. Brock flinched, as he always did when her touch was introduced to his distorted skin, but she ignored his subtle reaction, guiding his head back further to press light kisses to his right cheek – she knew better than to so much as graze the left.

“Do you still love me,” Brock rasped as his apprehension at her touch shifted as it always did into comfort, tilting back to claim her lips in a tender kiss.

“Every day I love you more,” she whispered back, Brock's scarred hand reaching up to weave his fingers through her pristine digits.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, kudos and comments are always welcome! I also have a multi-chapter unrelated Brock fic in progress posted if you are interested. 
> 
> Gif belongs to @leviathanhomecooking on tumblr


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